


Fine.

by Lurking_scarecrow



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Men Crying, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 13:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20893115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurking_scarecrow/pseuds/Lurking_scarecrow
Summary: Pickles has been violated on a number of occurrences when nobody is around.He can't tell anyone.





	Fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Have something sad I wrote in 20 minutes.

It wasn't fair. EVER. 

No matter what happened. No matter what he did. No matter what he tried, Pickles always got the short end of the stick. 

Pickles woke up every day with a horrible pain he carried in his waist and hips. Sometimes his neck, sometimes his shoulder. The pain managed to exist on his body. He grits his teeth at the thought of it. The thought of why. 

Why wouldn't it happen to him? He would think to himself. He was the smallest out of the entire band in height and weight. Pickles was the easiest target. 

The small red-headed man sat up like he would every morning with the same pain in his hips. He winced. He stood up anyway. Pickles went over to his sink and brushed his teeth. The drummer looked at himself in the mirror. 

Who are you? 

"An oogly slut." He murmured frustrated. 

He dressed. Pair of jeans, black t-shirt, socks, shoe ect. Same disheveled look on his face. 

The other band members noticed it lately. Pickles had such sour and strange energy, it was very uncomfortable. Although it wasn't metal to be nice to each other, they did reach out to him. He was their pal. Nathan tried on a few occasions but was met with either complete disregard or a backlash of anger. It wasn't that it was not worth finding out, they just decided it was better left alone.  
Pickles didn't want anyone to pry. 

He just wanted to keep it to himself. 

What was happening, he didn't even try to fight anymore. He just let it happen. Too many times he was reminded he couldn't fight and was put in his place right away. 

But what was happening?

"Pickles." 

The drummer stopped walking down the halls of Mordhaus.  
Looking down his hands in his pockets, his spirit broken a long time ago.  
"Pickles can you come in here for a moment?"

"Yea." He muttered 

The door closed. 

Charles sat down in his office chair. His eyes focused on Pickles. They narrowed on him, staring through his small body. Combing each inch of his skin. Pickle's face twisted up nervously before sitting in Charles's lap like he was instructed to do every time the two were alone. 

Charles put his hand on Pickle's hip and continued working. Pickles could feel his body fill with anxiety and then he felt numb. Pickles felt nothing as he sat with the man whom he learned was nothing but silent evil. 

Because of Charles, Pickles was just a shell of his former self.  
After a half an hour of working on a few documents, spreadsheets ect. Charles closed his laptop. He used his universal remote to turn the lights off. Charles focused on holding Pickles. Running his fingers up and down the redheads back and rocking him slowly. 

"How are you feeling," Charles asked flatly. 

"Fine."

"That's a lie, tell me how you're feeling," Charles growled 

"I feel sore." Pickles admitted 

Charles got a wicked smile bloom across his face. Delightful. 

"Sore huh?" Charles chuckled softly. 

"Yea.." Pickles sighed quietly 

"Does anyone else know that?!" Charles gripped onto Pickles's neck.

"N-no!" Pickles cried out. 

"Good," Charles smirked settling back down. 

Pickles sobbed silently. Hating the world right now. Feeling so trapped in Charles's arms. He felt sick all the way down to his stomach. 

"I have a conference I need to be at in 10 minutes." Charles pats his back "Go to your room, I'll find you later, understand?" 

Pickles nodded wiping his tears away from his eyes obediently. 

"That's a good boy, so sweet and perfect." Charles cooed in nice words "I'll taste that sweetness soon enough, now run along." 

Pickles left his office and quickly began running away to his room. He shoved his way past a couple of Klokateers. His face scrunched up with tears. His mind telling him horrible things. 

Slut.

Whore.

Boy toy. 

Dirty. 

BAD.

GARBAGE. YOU BELONG IN A GARBAGE CAN. 

GET OUT.

Pickles made it to his room and closed the door behind himself. Going up to his mirror all he wanted to do was scream. He couldn't physically see Charles's hands on him. But even when he wasn't there he could feel him. He could feel his horrible breath on his neck, he could feel his hands hitting him or pressing onto him. Pickles got the horrible pain his hips again like Charles was forcing his way inside. His tight insides. His hot insides.  
Pickles threw up in the sink. 

Back to reality. A sad reality. But the one he was in. Pickles blinked a few times. He rinsed the contents of his stomach down the drain. Pitifully crying. 

Pickles staggered to his bed and fell onto it. He cried into his pillow some more. Covered himself with what was once his favorite blankets. They used to comfort him. Now they were just objects. Everything he loved was just becoming objects. 

Even Pickles. He was an object. All he was, was for somebody else's use.


End file.
